Irreplaceable
by MJ-Skywalker
Summary: “Don’t you die on me, Tony Stark,” Pepper whispered fiercely, squeezing his hand with all the strength in hers. “Don’t you dare.” He was Tony Stark. Ten feet tall. Invincible. What was a car wreck to Iron Man? Tony/Pepper. Three-shot. Post-movie.
1. Shattered Delusions

**Disclaimer: Iron Man and all other associated characters, plotlines, etc. do not belong to me. They are the intellectual property of Marvel Comics and several others. I'm just playing in their multi-million dollar sandbox for a bit.**

**This idea haunted me in a daydream back on September 5****th****. I didn't get started until September 8****th****, and I haven't been able to write anything else since. **

**I'm slightly drawing on a real experience here, so the writing of this first part has been a very emotional process for me. It's one of the few times I've cried during writing. That said, please enjoy this. It's from the heart.**

**The Pepperony 100 Challenge Theme #90: Wreck**

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**Irreplaceable**

**1. Shattered Delusions**

_This isn't happening_, I thought, my heart throbbing painfully as my stomach practically dropped through the floorboard of my Audi. _This _can't_ be happening._ I'd hoped that Tony would never be the cause of this much-too-familiar feeling again. Why did he have to constantly, if not _always_, prove me wrong?

One of many eerie things about it all, that I'd noticed earlier? It was a clear, sunny day. Perfect, Tony had said, for driving to the airport. Perfect. Didn't perfect mean that nothing bad could possibly happen?

I've always heard that drivers fall into a false sense of security when they get close to home or at least drive roads they know by heart. Everyone has those moments where they sink back into their seats and let their minds drift. That was me, today. I could drive the road to the aviation division of Stark Industries in my _sleep_. It just came with the territory of being Tony Stark's personal assistant: know where to go and how to get there. Period.

Whatever the case, it was a second or two before I realized that, in his (probably) speeding car far ahead of me on the highway, Tony's car had gone part of the way off the road.

_Don't worry_, I told myself. "C'mon," I hissed, willing his two left tires back onto the highway. _Happens to everyone_. "Damn it, Tony, get back on the road."

To my utter alarm, his car only went further to the left.

There was a curved hill coming up, the type for which the state's department of transportation has always put up warning signs on the side of the road. For a fraction of a second, I considered calling him. Would it distract him? Would I—

Tires squealed; the sound jarred my heart into a more painful rhythm against my chest. I breathed a relieved sigh, and then my overt sense of perpetual but affectionate annoyance with Tony kicked in. "Do that _again_, Tony Stark," I swore under my breath, "and so _help _me—"

I didn't finish the threat. In my relief, I'd thought Tony had started up the hill just fine.

I'd thought wrong.

Tony's sporty little silver Audi did a ninety degree spin and flipped on its side as if it were caught in some giant child's invisible hand. Metal screeched, sparks flew, and my eyes felt like they were about to pop out of my head. I couldn't be seeing what I was seeing. No. No, I'd had so little sleep these past few days. That had to explain it. Still, I didn't try to blink it away; I could only watch in horror as Tony's battered car rolled into the right-hand lane and off the highway completely into a shallow ravine.

Only then, as Tony's car disappeared and I myself was out of the danger of colliding with him, did it occur to me to slam on the brakes and pull over.

Breathing deeply as a cloud of dust—Tony's car, I supposed, coming to a stop—exploded to my right, I did my best to pull off the road. My hands were shaking, and my car didn't come to a stop fast enough. "He's okay, he's okay, he's okay," I chanted over and over. Why the hell hadn't my car stopped yet?

Tony had to be okay. He was Tony Stark, ten feet tall and invincible as far as many were concerned.

"God," I whispered, rubbing my eyes as I put the car in park. How long had that been? Five seconds? Ten? _An eternity, more like_, I thought numbly.

And what would I find if I got out and dashed down to him? Tony being…well…_Tony_, laughing, coughing, and brushing glass and dust from his designer clothing? Sitting in the driver's seat without a scratch on him, so that I wouldn't feel a shred of guilt in screaming at him for scaring the living daylights out of me and choking him 'til he turned blue? Tony, unconscious?

…dead?

I shook my head quickly. No, I wouldn't—_couldn't_—find him dead. that just wasn't something I could handle. _Should I even go down there?_

_Is that even a _question_?_ retorted my mind.

"Of course not," I snapped back. Without further debate, I yanked the keys from the ignition and threw open the door inside all of two seconds. He was going to be okay, and damn it all, I'd _make_ him okay if he wasn't. That was my job. It sure as hell wasn't something in the job description, but it was damn near carved into my heart.

I hesitated a moment. So I _did_ love him? No matter how much I lied to him, to myself…to everyone around us…I loved him.

I loved him, and damn him, he _had _to be alive.

Moving more quickly than I'd ever moved in my life, I bailed out of my car and slammed the door shut, sprinting down the hill as fast as my high heeled shoes would allow. I heard nothing, not the sound of other cars on the highway or even my own screams. I might have screamed his name. I probably _did_ scream his name, probably shrieked it loudly enough to wake the dead. But I wouldn't be waking the dead, I told myself. Tony wasn't dead. He just wasn't.

All I saw was the car, which had tumbled a long way. My heart skipped a few beats, and I slowed down. Most of the windows were busted out or shattered into spider webs. The sheet metal was torn, tattered, even gaping in some places, the silver paint job covered in dust and streaked randomly with black.

I covered my mouth, my hand warmed by my sudden, short gasps of breath. How could _anyone_ have survived a crash like that? The car more than likely hadn't, but cards could be replaced. People—_Tony—_couldn't be.

Swallowing a huge lump in my throat, I stopped as I came up on the car. I could see the back of Tony's head.

He wasn't stirring.

"Tony?" I called out cautiously, taking another step forward. Glass crunched underneath my shoes, a sound that stole all the air from my lungs._ He's alive, he's alive, he's got to be alive_. Another step.

_Crunch_.

"Tony?"

He didn't answer.

Pressing my eyes shut, I took a very deep breath. This was it. The next step would put me alongside the blown out driver's side window. I stepped forward with my eyes still closed.

_Crunch_.

Well, there I was. Next to him.

If he was playing dead, I was going to choke him through the goddamn window.

I opened my eyes…and breathing was suddenly something out of an instruction manual written in detailed ancient Latin. At first, I could only process bits and pieces of what I saw. Blood spatters. The whole front windshield looked as if a giant dinosaur had stepped on it. Glass and dust were everywhere. And when my eyes finally wandered over Tony?

I felt as if I'd been shot through the heart.

His suit was shredded in random places, his tie askew across his chest. Trickles of blood ran down his face and matted his hair. Best and worst of all, his eyes were fluttering rapidly beneath his eyelids.

Best, because it meant he was still alive.

Worst, because he wasn't conscious.

Stinging tears welled in my eyes, and a noise somewhere between a scream and a sob escaped my mouth. I tugged at the door handle, and the door creaked open; I threw it out of my way. No hill, no door, not even death itself would keep me from getting to him. They hadn't yet, and as long as I had any say in the matter, they never _would_.

"Tony," I breathed, kneeling on the seat next to him. I ran my hands through his hair, grabbing one of his bloodied, cut-up hands. "Tony, please, _please_ wake up," I sobbed, my shaking right hand rubbing his cheek. "You've got to wake up. You've got to."

Still no response. His eyes had, thank God, stopped fluttering. I don't think I could've stood seeing them do that much longer.

"Damn you, you're not going to die on me!" I said, a little more loudly. For all I knew, I might have been shouting it in his face. His head drifted in my grasp, and I shook him by his shoulder. He couldn't die. He…he was Tony Stark. Ten feet tall. Invincible. What was a car wreck to Iron Man? I shook him again, sobbing harder. He wasn't going to die. He couldn't, not today. Not now. It may have been selfish, but I _needed_ him alive. _Needed_ him. All that mattered was him. I loved him, and he wouldn't be taken away on my watch.

"Don't you die on me, Tony Stark," I whispered fiercely, squeezing his hand with all the strength in mine. "Don't you _dare_."

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**I really don't have anything to say, except that reviews are highly appreciated.**

**More soon—MJ-Skywalker**


	2. Personalized Hell

**Disclaimer: Iron Man and all other associated characters, plotlines, etc. do not belong to me. They are the intellectual property of Marvel Comics and several others. I'm just playing in their multi-million dollar sandbox for a bit.**

**I honestly have no idea where I was going with this. Even though I'm there, I'm still not really sure. Tony just talked and talked and said, "Don't change a thing, doll." He's the genius here, so I guess I'll trust him. That said, this is:**

**The Pepperony 100 Challenge Theme #34: Death**

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**Irreplaceable**

**2. Personalized Hell**

I was never in a hurry to be anywhere business-related. When it came to business, "hurry" and "Tony Stark" just never were found in the same sentence. Never _would _be. Pepper swore up and down that I dragged my feet on all things associated with Stark Industries because I didn't care. Most of the time, I was just trying to push my luck with her.

Don't tell her that, though.

Now driving speed…that's another matter entirely. On the way home, to the airport…_any _time I'm on the highway, the cruise control rarely drops below eighty. Speed and I went together like milk and cookies. Chips and salsa. _Red and gold_. Cars were made to help men go faster; rules were made to be broken. That was just how it was.

Speeding was another habit of mine that got on Pepper's nerves. "This is why you have a driver," she said to me the last time I came into the office with a speeding ticket—a _minor_ annoyance, mind you—in my hand.

"Yeah, a slow one."

"A _safe_ one," Pepper snapped back at me, jerking the piece of paper out of my hand to take care of it. "You're going to get yourself killed one day."

…maybe, I thought as a loud scream of protest from some belt or other issued from my car, I should've listened to Pepper. My hands tightened on the wheel, and I attempted to gently guide the car back into the fast lane.

The sound of grinding rubber grew louder. Was I hearing things? I always kept this damn Audi in tip-top condition. I did the work _myself_. Why the hell was it acting up like this? It _shouldn't_ have been. No, I _had_ to be imagining things.

_But if you're imagining things, _said my conscience as I cast a nervous glance in the rearview mirror at Pepper, _then why are Pepper's eyes the size of saucers way back there behind you?_

Suddenly gravity pounded me like an array of cinder blocks. The car went into a hard spin, cutting short any explanation I could've offered myself. I knew in the back of my mind that there was a strong chance that my tires would leave the ground, thanks to how fast I'd been going. Damn it. Pepper had to be right _now_, of all times, didn't she?

An invisible force slammed into the bottom of the car. _Here it comes_, I thought. I'd be lucky if the car missed the steel fence posts that sat along the edge of the right-hand lane.

_Funny_, I mused as glass shattered and sheet metal tore. Wasn't my life supposed to flash before my eyes right now? I was definitely about to die, I had no question about that. But no, I didn't see a replay of my whole life. I didn't really feel any pain.

All I could think about was Pepper.

Pepper. What was _she_ thinking right now? She probably couldn't hear the rushing winds or the sound of ripping sheet metal like I could, but she would more than likely see the sparks. She would see what was going on while my world spun around me in a swirl of colors and eardrum-shattering noise.

What would she do when I was gone? How would she take it? Would she know just how much I'd cared, how I'd felt, how much I'd loved her?

In all reality?...probably not.

I think I was still conscious as the Audi skidded down the road on the roof. God, I didn't want Pepper to see this. Maybe she wouldn't be able to get to the car whenever it finally stopped moving. Maybe the last thing she'd see of me was a bulky form sealed up in a body bag, because I sure would look like hell when this thing quit rolling.

_I love you, Pepper_, I thought uselessly as the edge of the highway flew up toward me outside the windshield. _I'm sorry I didn't listen. You were right._

The last thing I knew for a while was my head hitting the roof so hard that it left a dent in the ceiling.

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Quiet. That was the first thing I sensed—it was quiet. Gone were the howling and screaming of sheet metal scraping across asphalt, the sounds of glass shattering and my own screaming.

Silence reigned.

I opened my eyes to bright light, so bright that my eyelids squeezed together reflexively. I couldn't see a thing.

_Huh_, I thought. _Bright light. Quiet. Numbness. It all adds up…you're dead._

Bright light. Right. I guess I was about to find out where I was going. Heaven or hell. Ah, well, wherever it was…it'd be hell without Pepper. So it didn't matter.

I listened for a moment. Wasn't someone going to come and get me? I certainly wasn't going anywhere; I couldn't feel my legs. As a matter of fact, the only thing I _did_ feel was a belt across my chest. Weird. It was like I was still belted into the driver's seat of the R8.

"Tony!" an almost ethereal voice broke the silence. It sounded like it was coming from underwater. I tried to turn my head, but I couldn't feel my neck. Instead, I listened. And listened.

Where was she? It had definitely been a she. A _gorgeous_ she, from the pitch of her voice. Had the big guy upstairs sent his most beautiful winged helper after the one and only Tony Stark? I'd thought I wasn't in his good graces.

"Tony?"

Wait a minute. That wasn't just _any_ she. Call me dead and insane, but that _sounded_ like...

"Pepper," I murmured (or at least thought I murmured, I wasn't sure my lips had moved). That couldn't be right. I hadn't hit Pepper in that crash, of that I was pretty sure. I would've _felt_ something like that. Damn, if I'd hit Pepper, then I might as well just be thrown in the fiery pits below right now. That had to be the sin of all sins, killing a woman like Pepper. No joke.

"Tony?"

Oh, he was taunting me with her. _I see_, I thought with a mental nod, accepting my punishment. This was my personal hell, then. I'd hear Pepper, I'd remember those few amazing kisses we'd shared, but I'd never see her face again. I'd never get to let her know just how damn much I loved her. _You win_, I thought. _Just when I was changing, just when everything was going right for once, you take it all away from me. Ironic son of a—_

"Tony." I wanted to scream. Her voice was right near me.

_Damn it, Potts,_ I begged her silently,_ tell him you're not going to do his dirty work. Please, just go be his most gorgeous angel somewhere else. _

"Tony, please, _please_ wake up." I had to give God—or whoever it was in charge of this anguish—credit. Rather than just letting me hear Pepper's voice, he had her _upset_. Damn him, I'd _kill_ him for making her cry. I'd find a way.

"You've got to wake up. You've got to." Wake up? I was dead. _Was_ there waking?

Maybe—and my pathetic excuse for a dead heart fluttered half-heartedly at the theory—Pepper was still alive…and I could just hear her. Damn, she'd gotten to the car after all. _Go away_,_ Pepper. Please. _

A soft touch glanced over my cheek. Now I _really_ wanted to scream. I wanted to pulverize everything around me…if indeed there was anything at all. He was letting me feel her hands on me? Bastard. This was the ultimate in cruel.

"Damn you, you're not going to die on me!"

_Too late for that one, kiddo_, I thought, my chest figuratively swelling in wounded pride. That was my fiery redhead. _Believe it. Believe it and leave me here. _

As much as I wanted her to go away, though, I was addicted to her voice. I was addicted to it, and it was fading away with each word. _No, damn it! Don't leave me! Don't…just don't!_

Then, God...assuming that's what he called himself, if in fact he wasn't a woman...went for a real big one: the seatbelt loosened its grip, and suddenly Pepper's arms were around me, one of her hands holding mine. The feeling set my whole body aflame, but I didn't want her to let me go. I _never_ wanted her to let me go. My body was in nearly unbearable pain, but it was a _good_ kind of pain, the _best_ damn pain I'd ever been subjected to. These must have been the flames the evangelicals ranted and raved about before the masses, the flames of my own personalized hell. And honestly, with Pepper holding me, it sure didn't seem as bad as they'd made it out to be.

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**Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter. Reviews are appreciated.--MJ-Skywalker**


	3. Angel in Waiting

**Disclaimer: Iron Man and all other associated characters, plotlines, etc. do not belong to me. They are the intellectual property of Marvel Comics and several others. I'm just playing in their multi-million dollar sandbox for a bit. (Malibu General Hospital, as far as I know, is fictional.)**

**Finally! Here is the end. Please enjoy.**

**The Pepperony 100 Challenge Theme #94: Chance**

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**Irreplaceable**

**3. Angel in Waiting**

Seven years. For seven years, I'd been Tony Stark's personal assistant, and after seven years of constant—if, at times, strained—servitude…I was still waiting on him. Phrases like 'come on, get up,' 'hurry, Mr. Stark,' and 'you were supposed to be out of here an hour ago' were aggravatingly well-acquainted with the space between my lips and his ears. I'd encourage Tony to move faster, and he'd blatantly ignore me. At times like those, I was lucky to even get a dismissive wave of his hand—and _that_ only ever served to further the dwindling of my patience.

But at present, I would've given my heart for him to be able to push his luck with me. I would've ripped my brain from my skull and handed over my soul, too, just for the chance to try and light a fire under him and berate him for being so goddamned slow.

Now, I might never get those chances.

I paced the small waiting room of Malibu General Hospital, coffee that'd grown cold long ago clutched in one hand as the other hand worried with a loose strand of hair.

It had taken the hands of two unnervingly calm emergency medical technicians to separate me from Tony, and someone had helped me up the hill into a waiting ambulance. The whole thing had been surreal, and all I really remembered from the time I'd sat down next to the stretcher Tony was strapped to until the time they'd wheeled him off the ambulance and straight into surgery…was holding his hand. While one of the techs had worked away at dressing his wounds and cleaning his face a little, I took his hand gently in both of mine, holding back tears for (so I told myself) his sake. As the ambulance pulled back onto the highway, the movement rocked the vehicle so hard that I let go of Tony's hand for a moment.

His hand gripped mine tighter, and then went limp.

Disentangling my fingers from my hopelessly messy hair, I flexed my hand absently and brought my wandering mind back to the waiting room. How long had I been here? How long had it been since they'd taken him away? I wanted to ask my only company, a Hispanic family of three, but they seemed a little discomfited by my appearance. I must have been a sight, with my bloodstained suit and dirty shoes.

Not that I cared; all that mattered was Tony.

"Miss Potts?"

I jumped, taking a moment or two to realize that the immaculately clean doctor in charge of Tony's case had spoken to me. The loudest sounds in the room, up until that moment, had been my coffee's sloshing to the rhythmic clicks of my high-heeled shoes. "Yes?"

He paused, and I took that as my cue to join him—which, in my current state, meant my cue to run hurriedly toward him and accidentally slosh some stale coffee down the side of the styrofoam cup in my hand. The doctor offered a hand towel from one of his pockets, and I took it gratefully. "How is he?" I asked quietly, numbly…too afraid to inquire any further.

"Well," sighed the doctor, "he took a really bad hit to the head at some point during the crash. I believe you described his eyes to have been fluttering?" Biting my lip, I nodded, and so did he, shoving his hands into his pockets. _Tony does that_, I thought, tuning out some of the doctor's commentary on Tony's head injury. _A lot. In fact, he probably does it just to annoy the hell out of me_…_God, I miss that._ "He's not awake. He may be out for days."

That snapped me out of my reverie.

"But he's alive?" The words raced past my lips, leaving me breathlessly, pathetically hopeful. Alive. Tony was alive. Tony and dead just didn't fit together. Not yet, at least.

"Yes, Miss Potts. He's in stable condition. Would you like to go and sit with him?"

"Which way?" I asked. He directed me with his finger and gave me a number; I was off before he could say another word.

It didn't occur to me until I was racing down the hall he'd pointed to that I'd been uncharacteristically short with the doctor. The doctor, however, didn't matter. Tony. Tony was all that mattered.

Maybe, I thought, the doctor had been playing some cruel joke Tony'd asked him to play. Maybe when I opened the door, Tony would be sitting up, ready to point and laugh at my fearful expression. _Potts_, he would grin, _you really thought I was out of it? Really? _Yes. He would grin that grin, and I would smack him over his undoubtedly sore head until he _had_ a reason to be unconscious. The police would understand. Injured or not, Tony had it coming to him if he wanted to pull that kind of prank on me.

I took a deep breath when I reached the room. I could see him through the blinds of the windows, and the sight tightened an invisible steel hand around my heart. I'd heard about this from some women at work, seeing a loved one hooked up to a machine…but I'd never dreamt that it could happen to me.

A long moment passed before I decided to step inside. Tony hadn't moved, hadn't given any sign of being conscious. Could I handle sitting next to him?

…yes. Yes, I could. I was all he had. I _had_ to handle it.

I opened the door, breathing in with resolve, and closed the door softly behind me. Though he had to have been in some degree of pain, Tony looked almost peaceful. I didn't want to wake him. Instead, I sat down and took his tube-free right hand…and said nothing at all.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _That was the sound of Tony's heart rate. _Beep. Beep. Beep. _I listened to the noise for a while, waiting to detect the slightest change in pitch or speed. _Beep. Beep. Beep._ I cherished every beep, every single, jarring beep. Each one meant that I still had my chance to get Tony—_my_ Tony—back. Each little blip signaled that Tony was alive.

It was to this comforting noise that, little by little, I drifted to sleep.

* * *

I woke up to someone calling my name and rubbing my hand tenderly. It was a soft, gentle sound, the voice…and if I didn't know better, I'd have said it was loving, too.

Hell, maybe it was.

"Potts? Po-otts. C'mon, kiddo. Wake up." Only one man had ever consistently called me that and gotten away with it. My eyes flew open hopefully.

When my vision cleared, Tony Stark was smiling down at me warmly. "Morning, sleeping beauty," he said, advancing my hair's already hopeless, unkempt state by quickly rubbing his hand back and forth over my head. "That can't be comfortable."

I sat up slowly, too shocked to open my mouth in the yawn that was desperately tugging at my jaw. I had fallen asleep bent over the bed; as a result, my neck and shoulders were incredibly stiff. This didn't matter, either. "You're awake."

"Surprise," he grinned back at me. He stared at me for a moment, and then looked off into space. "You know, I had the funniest…dream. After it happened." Tony glanced over at me; unable to overcome my stunned state, I didn't say anything. "God…or whoever the hell's pulling the strings up there—" He paused to throw an explanatory look to the ceiling. "—had you talking to me. Holding me. I think I was dead, and you were supposed to be his angel…which makes sense." I blushed. "And you know…" With a wince of pain as he did it, he turned toward me and took both of my hands with his. "I realized something. You _are_ an angel."

I choked. "W-what?" I laughed mirthlessly, surprised at the absurdity of the statement. Me? An angel?

"Yeah. You're an angel," Tony replied. "You put up with me. They couldn't pay _anyone_ enough to do that, I know." It had to be the pain medication. That was what was making him loopy…but that didn't keep me from smiling with him. "You're _still_ here…after all these years…" His thumb brushed little circles on the back of my hand. "And God, you're gorgeous," he whispered. Tears welled in my eyes as he looked at me intensely. "I just can't figure it out. Why do you stick around _me_?"

"I…" Should I tell him? Had my epiphany, my sudden notion of love, come only because of the wreck? Was it a flight of fancy?

He was still gazing at me. I couldn't look away. _Wow, what a gaze_, I thought. My hands shook.

_Oh, just say it,_ some other voice snapped.

"I love you."

_There,_ I thought back. _I said it. ...damn, I said it. Why the hell—why the _hell_ did I say that? Stupid, stupid, stup—_

"You do," he murmured. Strangely, it wasn't a question; it was a statement.

"I do," the quirky voice made me answer him.

Smiling that smile I could never resist, Tony let one of my hands go and laid back on the hospital bed with a quiet laugh. "So he does give second chances."

_Yes, _I thought with a relieved smile, a tear escaping my eye. _Yes, he does._

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**That took a ridiculously long amount of time. Reviews are appreciated!**_**—MJ-Skywalker**_


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